Sever
by nesshaw
Summary: When the world rejects you, what could you do but reject it back?


**for:** Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition round six.  
**position: **beater 1  
**prompts: **audience, delicious, and the quote below.  
**trigger warning: **self-injurious behavior, mental illness.**  
disclaimer: **Self-injurious behaviordisclaimed

"Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's experience."

**20****th**** June 1998, **

My name's Lavender Brown. I'm eighteen. I was in a war. I survived. I'm a heroine.

I think if I keep saying that I'll not lose my mind. Not completely.

I can't look at mirrors, or any reflective thing.

Don't look at me. Please, don't. I can't stand my reflection or your expression. There's a tiny part of me that wants to wear my scars with pride.

What should I be proud of?

Leave me alone.

**24****th**** June 1998,**

I try not to remember. There are faces with names, places, and events in my memories. They bring up emotions I'm not strong enough to handle.

I don't like feeling weak. It goes against everything I believe about my house.

I pretend I'm an artist. I try to paint my memories with the colour red—the exact shade of blood. I try, I try, and I try until I taste the rusty iron and

**10****th**** July 1998,**

I was unconscious for two weeks. I suspect I was sedated. I don't really know. The detail is fuzzy.

I'm locked in a room with no window. It has little to zero furniture.

It's a full moon night. I don't have to see it to know.

My hands are shaking and my heart beats so fast that I feel like it is going to explode.

I'm not going to cry.

There is a voice in my head I've been trying to deny its existence. It orders me around and tells me things I don't want to hear. It makes me feel worthless. I feel worthless.

I'm clinging to this pen. I'm not insane. I'm not going insane. Please, please, stop shouting to my ears.

**11****th**** July 1998,**

I dreamed I was back in the castle, standing in the Astronomy Tower. The sky was clear, thousand stars lining up and shimmering, and the moon was sitting gracefully like a queen. It was too beautiful it was cruel the dementors had to be near us. I didn't know why I was there since most of the DA were in the Room of Requirement.

The Carrows found me and I was really prepared to go down fighting, but in all sudden I was thrown back onto the hard concrete by a werewolf. My nerves shut down.

I woke up with a scream.

I'm writing it because I'm still hoping that I can find the third option for this war against myself if winning just means losing.

**13****th**** July 1998,**

I went to a small garden this place has. Everywhere I looked, I could only see green. It was strangely sunny, the cotton clouds parted from their group every now and then, revealing a calming blue sky, but then the weather's like this the whole year. I sat on the grass for the solid two hours, staring at everything and nothing. It was relaxing.

I'm far away from England, magic, everything. I'm starting to draw a conclusion this is not a place to get better, but rather a hideout.

**18****th**** July 1998,**

They wish upon falling stars—the muggles—even though they were thousand years late. It's not naivety. It is like believing that good things would happen if you really wished it with all your heart. There's a sweet essence behind this make-believe magic.

**1****st**** August 1998,**

I was asked today what I wanted in my life. I answered without thinking that I wanted happiness.

I'm still stunned by my answer.

My life is a broken glass that shatters to pieces. Time sweeps the pieces away that it's impossible to get the glass fixed even by magic. The empty spaces are filled with sadness disguise in short happiness.

Don't regret, they say. Cherish the good things, learn from the bad ones.

Don't give up.

**31****st**** August 1998,**

My life is my play. I'm both the script writer and actress, and the people around me are the audience.

They don't get a say to what I could and couldn't do.

**1****st**** September 1998**

'The mad girl who's sent to a muggle hospital goes back for her final year.'

The voice who's been asleep suddenly wakes up and laughs. The evil voice gives chills on my back. My hands are shaking and I'm thinking of running away.

There are camera lights and stares. Expectations breathe down my neck, tickling my scarred face. I put my hair in a pony tail, blatantly showing off the bad guy, and design a smile for them. There are cheers and applause. This is the me they want to see, not the one who wrestles with insanity and wallows in a spiral of depression.

My heart is pounding and I don't really want to break down here.

**8****th**** September 1998,**

The voice in my head, it multiplies. Their visit gets more frequent. They're more honest than the people who pity me and avoid looking at my direction. They are more real than ever that I often unconsciously close my ears.

It's getting harder to breathe.

What's the point of all this?

**9****th ****September 1998,**

I don't know what exactly happened. I think I broke down somewhere and someone found me. I woke up in the hospital wing with Seamus sitting beside my bed. I couldn't even comprehend the oddness of the situation.

"Oh, you're awake!" He said by the way of greeting. "Madam Pomfrey said you were running low in glucose. I was surprised since you're heavy."

I stared at him, precisely at his eyebrows. He coughed and grinned sheepishly. "That was bad. I'm sorry, but hey, I managed to sneak some food, specially made by the house elves for you."

He was so at ease that I wanted to tear the smile off his face. He wasn't bothered by my silence and kept going on, "It's delicious, you know. I would lick the last smear of it."

"So why haven't you done that by now? Preferably not here," I couldn't help the snooty tone in my voice.

"Nah, I'm not really planning to leave you alone." He said and there was plain honesty in his voice.

I almost rolled my eyes, "I don't really think you have the right to decide something when it concerns me."

"Actually a friend has that kind of right, don't you know? Friends are annoying little shits."

I looked away from him, my hands gripping on the bed sheet. "What I was trying to say was you've revoked the right."

"Bullshit," he replied after a moment of silence, but he finally left me alone.

**14****th**** September 1998,**

Do you know how it feels like when there are voices demanding to get attention while there's also someone else tries to talk to you? It causes so much a headache. I'm losing my grip on what's real and not real, and it's making me distrust anyone. Sometimes I want to give in. Would it be easier for everyone if I just deleted myself from this world?

I don't really know what the point of living is anymore

**Somewhere, sometime.**

Most of the times, I'm not myself. I don't really remember and it's pointless to write my thought down when I can't


End file.
